Ashen Marrow
by SaccharineLethargy
Summary: HarryPotter/DC crossover


**Disclaimer:" anything ****Recognizable is not mine; i dont own harry potter"  
**

**1-Washed out:**

* * *

_I'm just living in a life without meaning  
I walk and walk, do nothing  
I'm just living in a life without feeling  
I talk and talk, say nothing _

-**the specials/ Lynval Golding**

* * *

The room was cold despite the soft cotton on their skin, or was it just them.

the light was flickering on and off.

they didn't see anything as everything was hazy.

their body was heavy, unresponsive, their thought scattered and slow.

The heavy smell of antisepics was overwhelming.

they were exhausted.

they were empty.

Empty.

_Again._

They were born normal _again._

They weren't even surprised.

Their budding curiosity turned into indifference Immediately.

Huh.

If only death was the undefeatable end with no _encore._

The first time they were reborn "muggle" or "mundane" it was a nightmare

Hell in it most basic form

No core to speak of.

The inner icy warmth under the skin they took for granted in all their lives was gone

That powerful buzz in their veins;

Comfort that was always, always, always there. no matter when, where or who they where.

it was there when they were locked in the cupboard under the stairs,

When they were at school,

When they were running away from bullies,

Against death eater against Voldemort,

when they were Lord potter,

when they died for the first time,

when they were reborn a French muggleborn activist who fought for equality,

when they were an Australian pureblood witch with a penchant for rituals; and thought of blood rituals as her guilty pleasure and one true weakness. Really,the rush of adrenaline and magic was addicting.

When they were born Italian and were killed by their father at thirteen for being moon cursed.

When they were heiress Lafey last heiress to the name, dark lady and self-proclaimed "evil queen", the necessary evil of the times who led magical Europe to a needed revolution into a new era "Golden Apple era", where they finished their French alter ego plans through an iron hand instead of pacifistic ideologies. United the scattered magical communities, be it human or being and died at age 184 leaving the magical under the careful rule of their inner circle, "The Nine's Council".

It was their more fulfilling life.

Their powers at their apex.

They were in complete control in that life.

They still had their magic.

Hell, even when they was born a squib, which by the way, happened a lot of times they still had the ever-present warmth in their chest; even if their pathways were damaged, blocked or simply inexistent. It was still there, still warm and still alive.

Now now they were so cut-off from their magic their heart that they could literally feel the hole in their soul, never had they felt so cold, so empty and so alone.

The void eating at they soul, rotting their inside out

The first time they were born a mundane was the first time they killed themselves, Jacob M. Palmer killed himself the night of his eleventh birthday. Drinking a bottle of bleach, painful but final.

Rose Raynham died when she was 5 jumped in front of a moving car.

Jeremiah Siggs O.D at his sweet sixteen's.

Vivian Grey hang herself a week before her wedding.

Lucas Chaher burned down his house with him in it after killing his wife and three daughters.

Guillaume Segal, Yumiko Ren, Demetri Chernov ,Nicholas Arden, Jules Travers, Ashley Curtis, Ayleen Barret, Eliot Archer, Nabila Saad, Kim Ye Yun and so many others…

it took a dozen lives or so to give up.

To stop dreaming of it.

To stop longing for it.

To forget that elusive feeling of warmth, of comfort, of love, of home…

Many other dull lives and self-ends.

Life for them was a game of endurance, a waiting game; it would threw everything it has at him while the whispers promised him the warm embrace of death.

It never lasted long; those stolen moments of utter and complete serenity, peace and just _complete belonging_ seemed like seconds before they crashed back into life, into a new body, into a new destiny.

They, the master of death, cursed by death, had accepted death, understood that there was worse thing and now longed for it, regretted ever touching the artefacts, uniting them, mourned their, no _hi_s choice to come back, to finish his task, cursing them this to crushing cold eternity

They would try, going lethargically through their life until they suddenly snapped and just ended it.

Many times they would wake a day like many others eat breakfast, kiss their mother, father, grandma, sibling, lover, son, daughter, cat, dog or whoever they lived with in whoever's body they occupied , to go out and never come home.

The golden boy who used to be Hadrian James Potter was long gone, long forgotten, and with him his ideals, his black and white views and with time, his humanity.

Humans were ambiguous beings, instead of the black and white picture he once had of the world, humans were an array of grey, a sea of different shade, all grey, all undistinguishable. They were walking contradiction.

Past, present, future. Family, ideal, values, sexuality, identity, dreams, failure, success. Did it really matter?

They wanted _want_ power but for what? They long for money, but why?

They wished to be free, autonomous in every aspect: soul, body and heart; yet they longed for others, they molded themselves into society, shackling themselves by rules and boundaries.

They wanted to be unique, yet they abandon their individuality to fit in, wearing masks, hiding behind practiced lied to conform to the idea of normalcy.

The sunnier the smile, the more shadows it veils.

They just choose, mirrors reflecting what you wanted to see in them, what you needed to see, erasing everything undesirable behind a pleasant illusion.

He, they never believed the sweet warm lies of security, affection, loyalty, love… not like they used to, if anything eternity gave them perspective. After all, how many times was he/she the picture of happiness, envied for their fortune when behind the façade there were only bitterness and contempt? How many lives did they give their all, all they had to give and more, so much more, destroying themselves in the way, to be stabbed in the back?

They always had their guards up, searching for the cracks, the barley-seen but always-there telltale to the lies;

Sweet lies

Blissful ignorance.

Humans were evil; a person shouldn't relax in the company of monsters.

They never felt safe around people, never secure. Scanning people, analyzing them, defining their motives, breaking through the lies was their only comfort; in lies, they shall grasp the truths.

Still, their view of the world was breaking. With each twisted picture unmade, a crack was made. With each smashed mask, a piece fell never to be mended.

While they grew, their collection of masks expanded.

With each year, they lost herself more.

The older they became, the better player they turned to be.

Then they became their lies and behind the lies, nothing was left.

Emptiness, a growing void, nothing to feel, nothing to enjoy, empty yet not peaceful; silent yet unrestful. Growing despair, longing to feel again, to feel when feeling were forgotten. forged for so long yet the genuine could not be remembered.

Hollowness was unbearable, heavy. Too heavy for them. they found solace in pain; pain was their anchor, a truth in the lies. A splash of color in their too grey world. Red was better a color, it was vibrant. It was warm. It was alive.

A proof they were real.

A proof that they were alive.

Red was their anchor to reality.

In various hues of red they went.

Everything started with red

Everything ended with red

And in circles it went

And here looking up at the ceiling of their hospital, out of their cribs, they did wonder; who were they this time? Where were they? What did fate have in store for them? Who did they need to be? What mask should they wear? And more importantly how long would it take them before they'll try to make the world vermilion again?

* * *

**R&R**


End file.
